


Sugar For My Honey

by PepperF



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Started this for <a href="http://dayofindulgence.livejournal.com/">dayofindulgence</a>, but I stalled at the ending – so, instead, I managed to fight it into shape in honour of annerbhp's birthday (which was yesterday, but...) – happy birthday, sweetie! I hope you had a wonderful day!</p><p>Many thanks to holdouttrout for constructive crit, and supplyship for some finale inspiration.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sugar For My Honey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Annerb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annerb/gifts).



> Started this for [dayofindulgence](http://dayofindulgence.livejournal.com/), but I stalled at the ending – so, instead, I managed to fight it into shape in honour of annerbhp's birthday (which was yesterday, but...) – happy birthday, sweetie! I hope you had a wonderful day!
> 
> Many thanks to holdouttrout for constructive crit, and supplyship for some finale inspiration.

Jack was sure that this would be the mission report that finally got him fired. And quite possibly hung, drawn and quartered, once Jacob found out (as of course he would, given Jack's luck). Of all the phrases guaranteed _not_ to gladden the hearts of a commanding officer or a father, "naked and covered in honey" was right up there with such classics as "Dad, you know you said I could borrow the car...?", and "That was when Daniel pressed the button, sir."

He said as much to Sam.

"Actually, sir, it's birch sap syrup, not honey – more like maple syrup," she explained oh-so-helpfully, and waved at the dense grove of trees that surrounded them. Jack rolled his eyes. "And we're not," a fractional pause, "naked."

This was true. They had been given tiny swatches of fabric to wrap around their lower parts – all that was considered necessary for this little rite. And, on the whole, it was probably better if he didn't think about their state of (un)dress at all. Fortunately it was a hot day, the sun like midsummer. He'd been grateful of the shade from the trees.

He lifted the dripping brush, and tried to pretend he'd finally gotten around to repainting his spare room. Unfortunately, the colorless syrup smelled more like candy than paint, and Sam in no way resembled a wall. When he risked a glance at why she was fidgeting, he had to close his eyes. "Carter," he said, with quiet determination, "would you mind not doing that?"

Sam glanced at him, and quickly pulled her finger out of her mouth. It made a little 'pop'. Jack swallowed. "Sorry, sir," she said, looking away again, and fleetingly back again, and then away, and then back, and then determinedly _away_. She cleared her throat. "It tastes really good," she said, brightly.

Jack opened his mouth, couldn't think of a single non-court-martialable reply, and closed it again. He shook his head, and kept painting, trying to slosh the stuff on carelessly, with no attention to detail. It was the details that were going to get him in trouble here – the way the syrup glistened across her shoulders, running in sticky rivulets down her shoulders and, and, and chest, the wet gleam it gave to the lean lines of her stomach and legs, the way her toes wiggled as he painted her feet...

Dammit, Jacob was going to disembowel him.

Jacob – yes. Picture doing this to Jacob. Jack grimaced, libido effectively doused. Okay, ew. Painting Jacob's bare shoulders, he told himself firmly. Did Jacob have a hairy back? Okay, that was far too disturbing. And, oh god, what if they stuck him in a zatarc machine again, and he had to explain this little interlude? _Well, sir, I just closed my eyes and pictured Jacob..._

"Sir?"

He looked up, and met Sam's concerned gaze. Abruptly, Jack realized he'd been painting over the same patch of pale ankle for the last minute or so. "Uh. Sorry, I was thinking of..." _your dad_ "um, you know, uh, this really cool goal in the NHL playoffs – ten seconds to go, and the Leafs—"

"Sir," Sam interrupted his babbling. "Just finish it quickly, and then I can do you."

Then she winced, and turned a lovely shade of pink.

Jack stared blankly up at her for a long moment, and then remembered the brush hanging loosely in his hand. "Oh! Yes. Sorry. Yes. Nearly done." He dipped the brush back into the calabash of syrup that stood at their feet, the soft grass clinging to its increasingly sticky exterior. "Turn around," he said, gruffly, and waited until she'd turned before he stood up and started on her back.

He painted a wide stripe of syrup across the yoke of her shoulders, and knew with utter certainty that this little interlude was going to show up in some spec _tacular_ dreams. He moved closer, because it was hard to see the clear syrup from certain angles, and he needed to know what he'd already covered. No sense in repeating his work, dragging this out, going over the same skin again, and again, and again... The best angle seemed to be when he was close enough for her hair to tickle his cheek. He traced the edge of her blush with the tip of the soft brush, slowly dipping into the sensitive indents below her shoulderblades, making her wriggle, and tracing zigzags down her back. He chased a stray dribble down the curve of her spine, and when she shivered, all the reasons why he shouldn't follow the brushstroke with his tongue dissolved like cotton candy in the rain.

She was right: it tasted _really_ good.

When his conscious mind resurfaced, his mouth was glued – almost literally – to the sweet skin at the juncture of her neck, his hands were trailing a slick, sticky path towards the undersides of her breasts, the stickiness on her back was dragging at his chest hairs, and she was making a noise somewhere between a sigh and a hum. "Uh," he said, pulling his mouth away abruptly. "Um. I..." He stared at her ear, which was burning pink. "Uh, Carter, I... I..." She turned slowly in his arms, and he couldn't seem to lift his hands away from her skin. He was pretty sure that had nothing to do with the syrup, though. His brain, normally so reliable in a crisis, was working as slowly as molasses. "I dropped the brush," he said, stupidly.

She said nothing, but stared very intently at his mouth. He licked his lips, experimentally, and tasted sweetness. Her blue eyes were nearly black as they tracked his tongue.

"Uh, Carter, you don't think there's something in this syrup, do you?" he asked, as she continued to stare. "Like, say, oh, maybe an aphrodisiac?" Her eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, and she smiled, very slightly.

"Let's say there was," she purred, threading sticky fingers through his hair and pulling his mouth inexorably down towards hers. Not that he was resisting. "Gimme some sugar."

\---

Despite the Immnup's repeatedly pressed invitation for SG-1 to stay, insisting that they wear the syrup until the following dawn as part of the rite, Jack categorically refused to hang around looking like an unwanted candy apple. On their way back to the Gate, they detoured to a spring they'd found two days before, despite Daniel's protests about respecting Immnupi ways.

"Go on," he ordered Carter, uncomfortably aware that she was probably feeling especially messy – and that offering to help would completely blow their innocent act. Then he stood and shifted from foot to foot, restlessly. After they'd washed the syrup off, would they go straight back to normal, or would it take a while for the effects to wear off? He should've asked Carter – should've made her run some more tests or something. But he'd been too occupied with telling himself he ought to feel bad, and trying to suppress the... well, the feeling of blissful satiation. For crying out loud.

"What?" he growled at Daniel, who was giving him the hairy eyeball. Daniel raised an eyebrow, and exchanged a long-suffering look with Teal'c. " _What?_ "

"Just... go wash up, will you, Jack?"

Jack scowled at his teammates.

"You will both find it much quicker if you assist one another," said Teal'c, not quite rolling his eyes at Jack.

Oh, for... Well, it wasn't like he was averse to the idea. And if they'd already guessed, and didn't care, then it was kind of pointless to pretend. He handed his gun, cap and radio to Teal'c, and held up a stern finger. "Don't go far." This time, Teal'c did roll his eyes.

From the pool's edge, he could see her head and shoulders, and the pale hint of her body underwater. She glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest, then looked pointedly in the direction of the others. Jack just shrugged, and Sam closed her eyes and sighed, lowering her head in weary comprehension.

He removed tac vest, boots and belt, but left socks, shirt and pants on – they were sticking to him quite unpleasantly – and waded into the chest-high water, splashing across to her. "Sorry."

She shrugged, still keeping her arms crossed protectively. "They're not stupid."

"No, just annoying." He swished his arms around in the water, feeling blessedly less sticky by the moment. "So d'you think it'll wear off straight away?" Carter looked blankly at him. "The syrup?" he prompted. "You know, the stuff that made us—"

"Sir, I told you – I tested this stuff while you were arguing about whether or not we needed to do the ritual," said Carter, looking concerned. "It's just syrup."

Jack stared at her, that sinking feeling – the one that accompanied the knowledge that her father was going to kill him – creeping over him again. "Just syrup? But what about...?"

Carter began to look a little annoyed – and maybe, although he might be reading her wrong, a little nervous. "That was entirely us," she said, a silent 'you idiot' tacked on the end. "You thought it was just because we were _drugged_?"

"No!" Dammit, she was getting it all wrong. He tried to reach for her, but she stepped back, out of reach, and he wasn't about to go chasing her around a pond. "I just thought..." He put his hands over his face. "Listen, Carter, I don't mean I didn't want to. I wanted to. I _really_ wanted to. I have for years. You _have_ to know that." Really – had he not been so obvious it was pathetic? "I just thought the stuff, I dunno, suppressed my self-control or something." She still looked annoyed. "Sam, I..." He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to say. 'Sorry' would likely get his ass kicked. 'I don't regret it' wasn't quite true. The timing was all wrong for 'I love you'. "I'm glad it wasn't the syrup," he said, finally.

Her expression softened at last, and this time, she didn't back away when he reached for her. Really, now he knew he had no excuse, he shouldn't be doing this – but it wasn't so easy to just give it up. He breathed out a sigh and rested his cheek against her head, feeling the contentment creep over him again. Drugs schmugs. "Me too," she admitted. "That would have been... well. At least this was honest. Stupid, but honest."

"Colossally stupid."

"Monumentally."

"I could really go for some salted pretzels right now."

"God, yes."

She helped peel him out of his clothes, and for a domestic few minutes they rinsed and scrubbed, using the scrap of soap she'd fortunately remembered to bring. Then she washed his back, and he reciprocated, and it all began to go downhill very quickly. Jack lathered up his hands and pitched the soap onto the bank as she turned to face him. He ran soapy hands over her shoulders and down to cup her breasts, paying close attention to some important details – and when she groaned, he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Something in the water?"

Carter rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, shut up."

It was all too easy to ignore the nagging voice in his head, and he knew that ought to worry him.

At least this time they'd end up clean.

\---

Jack gave a shiver as they arrived back through the wormhole, the Mountain air a lot colder on his damp clothes than the summery planet they'd just left. He threw a casual salute up to the Control Room, and Hammond nodded back, leaning forward to the microphone. "Welcome home, SG-1."

"Always good to get back, sir," announced Jack, handing off his gun and surveying the room. "Damn, the trip back was cold, though."

He exchanged a glance with Carter, who looked like she was trying not to shiver. Teal'c and Daniel looked at them both.

"It is merely because you are wet, O'Neill," said Teal'c, reasonably. Before Jack could give in to the impulse to stick his tongue out in response, Hammond strode into the Gateroom.

"Anything urgent I should know?" asked the General, his observant glance taking in the soggy state of half of SG-1. Jack carefully did not look at Carter.

"We went, we saw, we did the hokey-pokey, we came home," he summarized. He'd never noticed how drafty this room was, before. "Nothing that won't wait until the debrief."

"I've got some s-s-samples that I want Janet to take a look at," said Carter, shivering openly now.

Hammond nodded. "Go get some hot showers, and then get checked out," he advised.

Jack was shivering, too, no matter how much he tried to conceal it. "Th-thanks, sir." He frowned, as Teal'c moved suddenly towards Carter.

"Has someone turned up the AC in here?" she asked, confusedly – and then abruptly collapsed.

"Carter—!" said Jack, urgently, starting towards her. But then the room began to recede. Oh, shit...

\---

When he woke up, Daniel was painting his chest with – oh no, not that damn syrup again! Jack groaned.

"Jack?"

He scowled up at Daniel. "This is a nightmare, right? Any minute now you're going to turn into my Aunt Wilma, and start scolding me for that incident with my skates and the pie?"

Daniel smiled. "You see what happens when you don't follow the advice of your cultural expert?"

Worrying memory of his last conscious moments came back in a rush, Carter's pale, upturned face and closed eyes, her limp body cradled in Teal'c's arms... "Carter?" he snapped.

"She's okay. Lie back down, you're not fully recovered yet. She's getting the syrup treatment, too."

"Yay," came an unhappy voice from the other side of the infirmary curtain.

"Carter?"

"Yes, sir," sighed Carter.

Jack settled back down, feeling rather scoured and wrung out. He squirmed experimentally. It felt like they'd just covered his arms, legs, and chest, this time – thank goodness. Hopefully Daniel wasn't planning to go any further with that brush.

Crap. Wait a sec. Did this mean they had been under the influence, after all? "So much for just syrup, then," he called to Carter, hoping she'd understand his code. He didn't dare ask the question he wanted to ask, not knowing who else might be within earshot.

"Actually, Colonel, Major Carter was correct: it was just syrup," said Janet's voice, from behind the curtain. "Its main purpose, although concealed by the ceremony, was prophylactic. The real culprit here was grass pollen."

" _Grass_ pollen?" Abruptly, Jack remembered the grassy little nest they'd made, in the grove. He groaned quietly, and threw an arm over his face to hide his blush.

Oh, _ew_.

Glaring at Daniel, daring him to laugh, he scrubbed at his face with his hand, but only succeeded in spreading it around a bit more. Giving in to the inevitable, he carefully put his sticky arm back down by his side. Daniel pressed his lips together tightly, and handed him a wet cloth. Grateful for small mercies, Jack cleaned his face.

"Yes, sir. Between us, Daniel and I pieced together what we think was the underlying reason for the ceremony. You see, the grass pollen contains a fairly powerful toxin, and, being a grass, it would probably be found in quite a widespread area across the planet. However, it's possible for your body to handle the toxin, if administered correctly. Basically, the syrup acts as a decelerant, binding itself to the pollen and inhibiting its absorption."

"You see," Daniel took up the story, "the idea is that people paint themselves with the syrup, then go and, er, spend time around the grass, getting good and covered, and then wear it for a day." _I told you so,_ said his expression.

"Over approximately twenty-four hours, the toxin enters the system, slowed enough that the body is able to handle it," continued Janet. "Then, next time you encounter the pollen, your body has a head start in dealing with it. If you'd completed the ritual properly, you'd both have been fine."

Oh, joy. Daniel was so gonna use that against him, the next time he wanted Jack to go through with some ridiculous offworld ceremony.

"Did you ingest any of it, Colonel? It seems to have reacted slightly slower for you than for Sam."

" _No_ ," said Jack. Daniel looked at him. Crap. He was so blushing. "Well, maybe a tiny little bit. It... tasted nice."

"The way the ceremony must have built up over the years is fascinating," said Daniel, considerately changing the subject as he finished up and dumped the brush back into the pot. "I wish I'd had time to discuss it in more detail with the village physician." They must've been back to the planet, Jack realized, feeling a little guilty. He didn't argue when Daniel pulled the sheet back over him, even though it stuck to his arms and chest. Damn, being poisoned really took it out of a guy.

"So we're gonna be okay?" asked Carter, sounding as tired as he felt. Jack turned on to his side, towards her voice, and made himself comfortable. Looked like they were staying in the infirmary for the time being.

"You'll both be fine in a day or so," Janet replied, reassuringly. "I wasn't sure if the syrup would work on secondary application, but as soon as we began to apply it, you began to stabilize. And I'd have to test this hypothesis, but I suspect that, if you go back to the planet, you will actually be immune to the pollen."

"Wonderful," grumbled Jack. "I'm sure that'll really come in handy."

"Don't knock it," said Daniel, mildly. "The Immnup thought they were giving you and Sam an important gift. It was really quite an honor."

"You and Teal'c can take the next honor," said Jack, firmly. "I've had quite enough of being poisoned in the name of intergalactic PR."

"All done in there?" asked Janet, briskly.

"All done," confirmed Daniel, and Janet pushed back the curtain. Jack found himself face-to-face with Carter, also curled on her side. She was pale, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, but on the whole she didn't look too bad. She ran her eyes over him, as Janet gave Daniel's work a quick check.

"You look like crap, sir," said Carter, quietly teasing.

"So d'you," he returned the compliment. She grinned brightly. "Couldn't it have been peanut butter, this time?" Carter wrinkled her nose. She only liked peanut butter when it was with jelly, he remembered. Freak. "I'd kill to be covered in something a bit less sweet."

"I'd kill to be clean," sighed Carter, wistfully.

Jack grunted agreement. "I'll never eat at IHoP again."

Carter blinked sleepily, and Jack had to clamp down hard on a fierce urge to get up, cross over to her bed, and snuggle down with her, syrup be damned. He glanced at Janet, and wondered what she'd made of the whole situation. Whether she'd guessed. Hell, she'd probably seen a few of the marks they'd left on one another.

A yawn caught him by surprise. "Get some sleep," Janet said, gently. "Both of you. We'll monitor you over the next few days, but if you continue to improve at this speed, I might allow you to leave the infirmary sometime tomorrow." Jack was reassured: she never mentioned a timeline of escape unless she was almost positive it would happen.

"Tomorrow morning?" he tried, anyway.

Janet raised her eyes heavenward. "No," she said, firmly.

Daniel patted Carter's ankle. "See you tomorrow, guys," he said. Jack waved tiredly as Daniel departed, and then glanced at the doc. He'd not really had a complete answer to the question that was nagging at him – but could he ask her?

"So... alien grass," he said, diffidently. Carter shot him a worried look. "Are we talking hayfever, or high as a kite?"

Janet gave him an indecipherable look. "What makes you think you might have been high?" Jack frowned at her, and Janet gave a tiny sigh, and moved to stand between their two beds. "Listen, Colonel, Major," she said, quietly. "At the moment, I have no reason to think that there was anything in either the pollen or the syrup to make you... act uncharacteristically. But if need be, I can investigate further. I'm sure I can find something." She looked hard at Jack, and then at Carter. "Just let me know if I need to start looking – okay?"

"Thanks, Janet," said Carter, quietly. She looked across at Jack. "But I don't think it'll be necessary."

Jack's mouth dried up, as he pondered her meaning, and he scarcely noticed as Janet left.

For a while, they lay in silence, each seemingly waiting for the other to speak. They were ostensibly alone, but hardly unobserved. Jack glanced over at the night nurse sitting with her back to them, working at a computer in the external office, one glass wall away. He sighed, again wishing he could cross over to Carter. It would be so much easier to talk to her if he was spooned around her, his face buried in her hair... and not with her looking at him from four feet away in the low light of the infirmary. Plus, he was still a little cold.

"I'm chilly," said Carter, breaking the silence – and the last of his will.

He sat up. Dragging up the sheets and draping them around himself, he staggered across the gap on surprisingly weak legs, and slumped down beside her. She turned and shuffled over, making room for him, and he curled carefully around her, each wrapped in their separate sheet as a last gesture towards the conventions. Jack buried his nose in her hair, and breathed in happily, squeezing her waist. "They should keep it warmer. Don't they know there's sick people in here?" he grumbled in pretext.

"Mmm," sighed Carter, contentedly, and they lapsed back into a far more comfortable silence.

"Sam," he said, finally, on the edge of sleep.

"Mm-hm?" she murmured drowsily.

"I want to kiss you goodnight."

There was a silence. And then he felt her finger stroke the back of his hand. "Me too," she admitted.

He nestled his face further into the darkness between her head and the pillow. "Every night," he confessed. She turned her face into the pillow, and he felt his nose brush her buried ear. He resisted the urge to kiss it, fairly sure that it wouldn't stop with just one little kiss. Instead, he kept whispering. "Every morning. Every lunchtime. In the gym. In briefings. In the afternoon. At the end of the day. When I stop at the lights. When I'm at the supermarket, buying chips – but not when I'm buying beer, of course, because then I'm concentrating. When I'm cooking dinner. When I'm watching TV."

"As long as it's not the Simpsons," she whispered back, and he grinned into her hair.

"Sometimes – if I've seen the episode before." He felt her shiver with brief laughter.

"When else?"

"When you and the guys come over, and you're out on my deck, and it's cold and getting late and you're going to have to go soon – but you glance up at the stars, and stay for just a little bit longer because it's a clear night and I've got a great view."

In the pause, he could feel her rapid breaths, in counterpoint to his own heart. If they weren't careful, they were going to attract the attention of that nicely oblivious night nurse. "The stars aren't the only reason I stay, Jack."

The need to kiss her was so strong that, for a moment, all he could do was hold still. "God, Sam," he whispered, when he could breathe again.

"Shh," she whispered, cautiously. He had to agree: this was teetering dangerously on the edge of control. "We should get some sleep."

But she wrapped her hand around his, where it rested over her stomach.

\---

They had to be quiet. But it wasn't easy, when he was sinking into her, and she was so wet, and _hot_ , god, so hot. He'd never known she'd do anything this risky. He gritted his teeth, trying not to groan out loud. God, if the Control Room techs heard them... _God_ she was hot. "Jesus, Carter," he muttered, under his breath.

She looked dreamily at him, eyes heavy-lidded as she rode him. "Colonel O'Neill," she murmured.

Jack grimaced slightly. "Call me Jack," he begged her, as quietly as possible.

But, "Colonel O'Neill," she repeated. And then again, slightly more urgently: "Colonel O'Neill!"

"Mnah!" Jack woke up with a start. The nurse took a quick step back, looking alarmed, and he blinked at her, heart pounding, relieved beyond belief to find himself curled into a ball, his erection hidden. "What?!"

"Sorry, sir – i-it's – Doctor Frasier said to wake you," the nurse stammered.

Jack dropped his head back into his pillow. Sometime during the night, he'd sleepily made his way back to his own bed – and thank god for that, too. "Ugh." He glanced over, but the object of his X-rated dreams was nowhere to be seen. He closed his eyes again. In the Control Room, for goodness' sake. In full view of the Gate, too. He needed therapy.

 _Well, Doctor McKenzie, the bit about doing it in the middle of the SGC was a dream, but the time when we were covered in syrup, and the time when we were in a lake were both totally real, I swear..._

"It's just past 7am," the nurse informed him brightly, as she bustled around him. "Major Carter is taking a shower – Doctor Frasier has given permission, if you want to take one too, sir?"

A brief, heated vision – involving steam, scented shower gel, and a great deal of slippery wet flesh – streaked through Jack's brain, trailing bubbles. Argh. "Yes, thanks." He waved at her, feigning sleepiness. "Few more minutes, huh?"

The nurse smiled indulgently at him. "Doctor Frasier also gave permission for you to have coffee," she said, and nodded at the tray on the end of his bed. "I'll leave you to wake up."

When she was gone, Jack sat up and made himself comfortable against the wall at the head of the bed with his coffee. He sighed.

They needed to talk.

He couldn't keep hiding the fact that just thinking of her got him so turned on he couldn't see straight – and they were miles past pretending it was all merely heightened emotions in intense situations. They had some decisions to make, and he really, _really_ wanted to get her alone. Mostly to talk.

Well, partly to talk.

Talking would certainly be part of the agenda, at least.

At least he felt better. A little shaky, a little – although he'd only admit it to himself – fragile, but nothing he couldn't handle. Hopefully Janet would let them both out this morning. They had to have missed the initial debrief by now, but no doubt Hammond would want to speak to him, and probably Carter. Eesh. Perhaps he'd better try to catch Teal'c and Daniel soon, to find out what they'd said. And perhaps first he'd better grab that shower, before he lost the opportunity.

\---

"And that was when they brought out the syrup, sir."

Hammond – perhaps for tactical reasons, perhaps because of his caring nature – had come to the infirmary to debrief Jack and Carter, just as Jack arrived back still damp from his shower and before he'd had a chance to speak to Teal'c or Daniel. The boys had tagged along with Hammond, and Jack was keeping an eye on them, hoping for a sign if he went severely off-story. Not that he expected them to lie for him. Just... to say what they'd seen, which was actually nothing. He trusted their discretion, really he did – and he kept reminding himself of that fact as he gave his own version of events. Carter was remaining prudently silent, speaking only when necessary.

"Doctor Jackson has explained to me the significance of the ceremony."

"Yessir. Well, the Immnup were pretty insistent about it, and seeing as we needed their co-operation, I went along with it. Reluctantly," he added, in case there was any doubt. Was Hammond looking amused? "They gave us explic – uh, detailed instructions, and Carter and I headed off, basted one another in the damn stuff as per, came back, got the Immnup's approval, then we all headed home. On the way back, I insisted that we stop and wash the stuff off – against what the Immnup had told us, and against Daniel's advice, but none of us had any idea that there might be medical concerns. Then we came back through and... Well, you saw the rest."

Hammond nodded. "I understand that it might not have seemed significant at the time, Colonel, but perhaps in future you will look more closely into the reasons behind any such rules, before breaking them."

Jack nodded, feeling like an idiot at Hammond's gentle reprimand. He really should have known better. He and Carter were damn lucky the consequences hadn't been more severe.

"It's my fault." Everyone looked at Daniel, who was looking contrite. "It was my responsibility to examine the cultural background to the ceremony. I should have found out sooner about the grass pollen, and warned Sam and Jack. I screwed up."

Hammond forestalled Jack, who was opening his mouth to tell Daniel it wasn't his fault. "Mistakes were made, Doctor Jackson," he said. "I expect us all to learn from them." He sat back. "Is that everything?"

Jack could feel Janet's presence behind him. "Yes, sir," he said, without hesitation, knowing that if he was going to lie, he had to lie convincingly, or Hammond would pick up on it instantly. "That's everything."

"Major Carter, anything to add?"

Jack held his breath.

"No, sir. I believe Colonel O'Neill has covered all the salient points."

Jack tried not to release his breath in a great huff of relief.

"Good. I understand that Doctor Frasier will be releasing you this afternoon. That should give you a nice, quiet morning in the infirmary. I'll have someone bring you your laptops, so you can write up your reports while they're still fresh in your mind."

Jack grimaced. "Woohoo."

Hammond gave him a stern look. "Colonel, in addition to that, I think you can write me up some changes to the procedural recommendations for dealing with offworld ceremonies." He paused, giving Jack time to dig himself in deeper, but Jack prudently remained silent this time. "Very good. Carry on, Doctor Frasier."

\---

After one final checkup at the end of the day, Janet finally cleared them to leave the base. Jack stayed prudently quiet in the proximity of freedom. Exchanging the briefest of glances, he and Carter stood up simultaneously and headed for the door. "Call me instantly if you feel at all odd," instructed Janet, as they departed. "Take it easy. Be good. And if you can't be good..."

Jack didn't look back.

In the elevator, he looked nervously at Carter, who was staring fixedly at the floor. All day, he'd wanted to get her alone, but now he had no idea how to ask. "Carter..."

She gave him a swift, burning glance from under her eyelashes. "I'll follow you in my car," she said, briefly.

Jack could feel his heart rate speed up, and reflected that it was lucky Janet wasn't still monitoring him. "Okay."

Halfway down the Mountain, it occurred to him that they'd not discussed where they were going. Still, he could see her headlights in the rear-view mirror, so he took that as tacit consent to his choice of direction. He stopped at the lights, and considered heading home for a long, long moment, wondering if she'd continue to follow, his mind bounding ahead to the possibilities, and his body all too willing to pursue that line of thought...

No. No, if he really wanted to talk to her (oy), they needed to go somewhere public. But not too public, of course. Hm...

At Moe's (it had been the name that drew him in, at first), he pulled into the carpark and got out, leaning against the hood of his truck as he waited for her. Carter parked a cautious distance away and got out. As she walked towards him, he could see her dubious expression.

"Ice cream parlor?"

Jack grinned. "Does good nachos," he explained.

"Ah."

"And salads. Bacon. Blue cheese dressing." A blissful expression crept over her face. "Pickles," he added, and she sighed happily.

"Coffee?"

"Coffee," he nodded.

Seated at a booth near the back with two cups of strong, black, unsweetened coffee, they were left undisturbed in the early evening rush. Jack leaned his elbows on the slightly sticky table, and stared across the table at her.

"So," he said, and fell silent, wondering what came next. And how much it would hurt.

Eventually, she broke the silence. "You look like you're expecting me to pull a gun."

"Carter, if all I had to worry about was being shot, I wouldn't be this nervous."

She smiled, and dropped her eyes to her coffee, wrapping her hands around the cup. "Yeah," she said, softly. She shifted, making herself more comfortable, or possibly just avoiding the need to speak. She drew a breath. Jack braced himself. "We can't do that again."

Yeah. He'd take getting shot any day. "We can't?" he asked, playing for time, trying to work out how he could change her mind - _if_ he should change her mind...

"No, Jack," she said, and looked up at him, eyes wide. "God, imagine if something bad had happened to Daniel and Teal'c, while we were—" She waved a hand and glanced swiftly around them, as if expecting to see NID agents lurking behind newspapers with cut-out eyeholes.

Jack grimaced. Yes. That would have been... unforgivable. "So, never again," he said, bleakly. He wondered just how desperately sick and pathetic it would be, to beg the Tok'ra to use their damned memory recall device on him. He was sure they'd have a way of recording his memories, so he could replay them on the days ahead when he was convinced it was all just a fantasy.

"No," confirmed Carter. "Never again when we're on a mission."

Never again. Never... Hey, wait a second... "Never when we're on a mission?" he queried, his voice rising slightly. Carter raised her eyebrows in admonishment, but at that moment he didn't particularly care if the waitress was NID, CIA, FBI, National Enquirer, or the local gossipmonger. "Never on a _mission_?"

"No," she said, adamantly. "We can't – you know we—"

"But when we're home?" he questioned, urgently. "What about then?"

Carter stared at him. "Well, I thought – I thought there's not much point in pretending... You know, now we've already..." She looked around again. "We should've gone somewhere more private," she said, irritably.

Jack grabbed her hand, which was restlessly playing with the corner of the laminated menu. "Sam. Do you mean you're okay with doing that again, so long as it's off-duty?" he said, desperate for some clarification, not sure he could trust his brain's interpretation of her half-completed sentences.

Carter's mouth dropped open slightly. "Oh. Did you think I meant—?"

" _Sam._ "

Her eyes focused on him properly, at last, and she took a long moment to look him over, from the top of his hair down to his hands. He wondered what she saw. Whatever it was, it made her expression soften. "Yes, Jack," she said, simply.

For a long moment, he just stared at her.

"Are you—?"

"Yes," he interrupted, quickly.

The way her face lit up made his heart turn over. About all he was capable of, at that moment, was staring at her, positive he looked completely goofy.

"There is one thing, though," she said, her joyous expression morphing into something warmer – something that sent a warm frisson through him. "After the honey—"

"Syrup."

"After the syrup, and the lake, there's a novelty I'd like to try," she said.

He sat frozen as she leaned across the table, closer, closer... Her cheek brushed his, and he closed his eyes as her hair tickled his nose, and he felt the gentle touch of her breath as she whispered softly in his ear.

"A bed."

\---

THE END!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [She's chilly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164094) by [iblamethenubbins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iblamethenubbins/pseuds/iblamethenubbins)




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